


Bang The Doldrums

by Cardinal_Sin (HU_shipper)



Category: Powerwolf (Band)
Genre: Drunk confessions, Friends to Lovers, M/M, just two goddamned idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 17:14:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19873171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HU_shipper/pseuds/Cardinal_Sin
Summary: Matthew Greywolf's guide to an unforgettable evening:Step 1: Get drunkStep 2: Confess your feelings to your best friend/longtime crushStep 3: ???Step 4: Profit





	Bang The Doldrums

**Author's Note:**

> Title is Fall Out Boy's song, Bang The Doldrums, because I think the chorus of it is fitting for this story. Go listen to it cause it's amazing.

The trouble starts with the simple fact that they're drunk. That wouldn't be a problem otherwise, as they both like going out and also alcohol, but right now it is. A big fucking problem. Because they're alone. Just the two of them. And they're really, really drunk.

Falk is slouched in his armchair, a beer bottle – one of the uhhh lot he's consumed as the night progressed – dangling from his hand. He's a little flushed and his hair is a mess because he cannot stop running his hand through it. It's annoying. It's hot. It's annoyingly hot.

"Freckles," Falk says, out of the blue. For posterity's sake, it sounds more like _fffffffffffr'kz_ , but that doesn't really makes sense, does it.

"What?" Matthew asks, slurs, whatever. He peels open his eyelids, to manage at least half a glimpse at Falk. He's almost asleep, sprawled on the couch he has in his apartment for some reason. He lives alone, so it's kind of pointless, but it's also pretty comfortable.

Falk sits up a little straighter, leans forward. Points a finger at Matthew. "On your face."

"What's on my face?" Matthew bolts upright, panicked. He sloshes a bit of his vodka-Fanta concoction on the carpeting of the couch. He glares at the stain and re-evaluates his prior choice to mix soda with alcohol. Well. He wanted sweet. There it is. On his couch. As a pretty neat stain. (Does his face have a stain? What does Falk mean-)

Falk jabs his finger in Matthew's direction again, and Matthew has to lean back a little. Don't want that bony finger to poke out his eye accidentally, after all.

"Freckles, I said. On your face."

Matthew scoffs. "I'm pretty sure that's not true."

"No, it really is, look," and there's a phone in his face, and before he knows better the flash of the camera almost blinds him. He hisses like a stray cat and squints angrily at Falk. He just shoves the phone back in Matthew's face. The photo is bad – and is Matthew really such a mess right now? – but fair enough, he appears to have freckles across his nose and on his cheeks. Huh.

The great thing about being drunk is that Matthew has no verbal filter. None. He just says the things he thinks of, zero thinking beforehand. And so he just can't stop himself before –

"You know who else got freckles."

Yeah, that.

He carries on. "'S Roel. Bastard's covered in 'em. You'd think it stops on his chest but he takes off his pants and –"

And Falk is staring at him now, looking a lot more sober than two minutes ago. Maybe he never got as sloshed as Matthew did, even though he did drink a lot of beer. The important thing is, however inebriated Falk had appeared a few minutes ago, it's long gone.

"Matthew," he starts in utter seriousness, "why.....have you seen Roel without his pants?"

Now that's a weird question. Why would he ask that? He looks weird, like asking the question pains him or something, and his face is all focused like his future is depending on Matthew's answer.

Matthew shrugs. It's not a big deal. "I slept with him."

There's silence as Falk stares, mouth a little open – he's stupidly hot like that, stop him – like he can't process what he's just heard.

"You what."

It's not even a question, comes out like a statement, like Falk cannot believe it. That's a little insulting though. Like Matthew isn't attractive enough, or interesting enough, to sleep with someone like Roel. Besides, it was a while ago anyway.

"I slept with him! Why is that such a big deal?" Seriously, what the hell?

"I don't know!" Falk is talking with his voice raised. He's frustrated, he's apparently still drunk but also hell-bent on getting this information out of Matthew. "I mean, why?"

Why? That's an unusual question.

"'Cause I like sex?" Matthew asks back. "'Cause he's hot and I was sexually fr – fur – frssssss you know."

"Frustrated," Falk completes, probably on autopilot. How can he say words with so many consonants in them? Weirdo. "Wait, why were you sexually frustrated?"

Now here's the thing. Matthew is pan. Matthew is also attractive and a nice person to hang around. Matthew could get plenty of dates. However, Matthew has been hung up on the same guy since he graduated high school, and being on tour with said guy all the goddamn time didn't help. So to cope, and because Roel was a genuinely great person and their thing could stay with no strings attached, Matthew slept with Roel. A lot, actually. Then of course Roel and Charles started dating so the whole thing stopped happening, but the point is, it was a good way to forget Falk for a while.

One tiny problem though. How to tell Falk?

The John Mulaney quote comes to mind at this point, the "not unless everyone gets real cool about a bunch of stuff really quickly" one. Because while Falk could be a-okay with Matthew not being straight – and he appears to be okay with it – he could have a problem with Matthew being interested in him.

So.

Matthew gulps down the rest of his Fanta-vodka thing and runs a hand across his face. He did not plan on having this conversation while drunker than three raccoons fucking in a dumpster – he's beyond coming up with comparisons that make sense – but oh well.

"Uhm," he says, first and foremost, because a confident start is important. "So listen."

Falk blinks and opens his eyes wide, signalling that he is. Of course he is, he asked the question in the first place.

"I had a whole friends with benefits thing with Roel because the guy I've been pining after was in a committed real – relatn –" he stops, shakes his head a little, "uh, fuck this, because you had a long-term girlfriend, alright? And I couldn't cope otherwise."

There. He said it. It's out in the open, it's done, he's done. Now Falk might just kill him, but at least he said it?

Great.

After copious amounts of silence Matthew dares to open his eyes, despite not exactly remembering when he had closed them. Falk's still sitting there, still as a statue, and Matthew would be a little less worried if he wasn't smiling. What the fuck is he smiling about?

"I'm sorry but... Are you alright?"

Falk snaps out of his trance – can you call it a trance??? Was it some temporary paralysis? – and, without hesitation, lifts the beer bottle and chugs the whole thing. It was at least half-full still.

"I think so," he chuckles, eyes wide in disbelief. Probably. "I just...since when?"

Oh, here comes the blush. "Since you and Charles became friends."

Falk stares more. Is he okay? Did he blink even once?

"But that was, what, centuries ago?"

"I was still in high school," Matthew whispers and screws his eyes shut, embarrassed. It's pretty awkward to admit to a schoolboy crush at the age of forty-one. He must look like a tomato now, he can feel the blush across his face and slowly spreading down to his chest.

His anxiety is still there though. Because as liberating it is to say it, and despite Falk not hating him, there's still no guarantee that Falk might return his feelings. Why would he anyway? And could they ever just be friends after Matthew told him? It's a terrible feeling, and dear god he just wishes to be sober right now, because the booze and the drama both messing with his head is not a friendly combination.

The storm in his mind stills a little as he feels a hand on his cheek. He opens his eyes and there he is, Falk just squatting in front of him, reaching up with his right hand that's cupping Matthew's cheek so lightly, so sweetly.

"Oh, then we have missed out on so much," he murmurs, his speech a little less slurred now as they both start to sober up a little from all the dramatic reveals and shit. What the hell is he saying though? Does that mean that he – that he also –

"Yeah," Falk says, his voice soft, answering Matthew's unsaid question. Maybe he's said it out loud on accident. "Yeah, of course I do. How could I not, Matthew? You're perfect."

The good thing about being drunk is that Matthew can blame his tears on the alcohol. There's not a lot of them, just a few that spill over and roll down to where Falk's fingers lie, and Falk wipes them away with a gentle touch. Matthew can't tell what kind of emotion is threatening to make his chest explode in that moment, but it is certainly a positive one.

"What do we do now?" Matthew asks, trying desperately to still act like he's not falling apart.

Falk shrugs, and awkwardly sits down on his butt in front of the couch. "I think I'll stay here, sleep some. I'm getting too old for this shit."

Matthew laughs, he can't help but agree. It's late, they drank way too much, they're not twenty anymore anyway. He watches as Falk stretches out on the floor, apparently comfortable there, although Matthew knows he'll bitch about back pains tomorrow. Matthew lies down on the couch, now properly, thinking tomorrow's hangover + neck cramp will be all worth tonight.

"Falk?" he asks, before he falls asleep. There's a sleepy little grunt as an answer. "Dinner, Wednesday, 7 o'clock? I'll come pick you up."

There's a second little noise from Falk's direction, again a sound of agreement, and Matthew lies back, now satisfied.

They've figured it out at last. It might have taken them more than twenty years, but they have. And in the end, that's what counts.

And Matthew's freckles. He ought to thank the almighty for the freckles. Otherwise this whole thing wouldn't have happened.

Matthew chuckles to himself. _Fucking freckles, man._


End file.
